


Wiped Out

by DraSuuh



Series: Road to McSpirk [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Bones really needs a hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Spirk - Freeform, Featuring completely unnamed aliens because I'm lazy, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I just die, I realized I needed those tags because yeah this is def getting fluffy, M/M, No Beta, Sharing a Bed, he gets one, soon to be McSpirk, uhh there's some mass death mentioned but nothing detailed at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23471866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraSuuh/pseuds/DraSuuh
Summary: McCoy walked down the halls of the ship. He was hardly thinking about where he was going. Not his quarters — he had already been there, already laid in his bed and listened to his thoughts for far too long. Whether or not his brain had a destination in mind, his legs apparently did, and he soon found himself in front of Kirk and Spock’s quarters.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock, Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Series: Road to McSpirk [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878220
Comments: 55
Kudos: 336
Collections: Bones McCoy H/C





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Star Trek fic I've ever posted, and I'm new to writing fic in general, so I'm a bit nervous posting this, but I have gin and a need for validation. Have some TOS McSpirk h/c.

Dead. All of them.

McCoy walked down the halls of the ship. He was hardly thinking about where he was going. Not his quarters — he had already been there, already laid in his bed and listened to his thoughts for far too long. Whether or not his brain had a destination in mind, his legs apparently did, and he soon found himself in front of Kirk and Spock’s cabin.

Well, technically the captain’s cabin. But, as the only person on the ship who knew about their relationship, McCoy knew that Kirk’s quarters were mostly shared by the two men these days, with Spock’s connecting quarters used only for meditation and some work.

Before he knew it, he was pressing the button, and hearing Spock’s answering voice. He stepped forward and the doors opened, then closed behind him. He looked around the smallish (larger than his own) bisected room, where Spock sat behind the desk, his eyes moving up from the computer screen to McCoy as he entered the room.

“Doctor?”

“Is… is Jim here?” It was a stupid question — a quick glance showed that he was in neither the living or the sleeping area, and the bathroom door was open to show that room was empty as well.

“No. The Captain is still in discussion with the colony mayor. Do you need something, doctor?” Was that something like concern in his eyes? Nah.

“No, I just…” McCoy swallowed. “Yes. I need to not be alone.” He was staring at a point behind Spock’s right shoulder. Just shy of eye contact. He could still see Spock’s eyebrow raise. Of course he didn’t understand, and McCoy said as much.

“I know that probably doesn’t make sense to you, and I’m not asking you to… to comfort me or anything…” He sounded stupid. He just kept staring at that spot above Spock’s shoulder, only to realize that Spock’s shoulder wasn’t there anymore. He started as the Vulcan laid a hand on his arm, and slowly looked up into his dark eyes. Spock held his gaze for a few moments before quickly pulling him into a firm, awkward hug. McCoy let out a somewhat undignified squawk of surprise. “Spock, you really don’t have to do this…” The Vulcan responded by wrapping his arms around him a fraction tighter.McCoy paused for a few moments before mentally shrugging and leaning into the (slightly too tight) hug, wrapping his arms around his friend’s (because he was that, really, wasn’t he?) middle. His head was dipped to let his forehead rest against Spock’s chest. No heartbeat — not the right place for it, he knew that, but it was slightly unsettling all the same.

McCoy tried to steady his breathing, which he hadn’t realized was fast until he’d started focusing on it. He wanted to cry, but he’d be damned if he started bawling on Spock’s shirt. The hug was weird (but nice) enough. It was just… all those people. Whatever weapon those ships had used, that beam of light, they’d never seen anything like it. Never seen anything like its effects — immediate incapacitation but slow, painful death. They thought they’d be able to do something to reverse the effects, and they’d managed to slow them, but that had ended up only prolonging the suffering. In the end, though they’d driven off the mysterious ships from the colony planet they had been attempting to invade, none of those caught in the beams had survived.

Shit, he had to stop thinking about it. He almost broke down there. He held onto Spock a little tighter to stop from shaking and focused on his breathing again. The two men stood like that for almost a minute more before Spock loosened his grip, McCoy taking his arms away in turn. He hoped desperately he wasn’t blushing. The Vulcan took his arm and led him towards the couch.

“Sit,” was all he said, before turning away and busying himself in the corner of the room. McCoy sat, too tired to make any sort of argument. After a few minutes the other man returned to him with an earthenware cup in his hands, which he held out. McCoy looked at it with a raised eyebrow.

“…What is it?”

“It is tea.”

“What kind of tea?”

“A blend designed to be calming.” That wasn’t a proper answer. But McCoy took the cup from his hands anyway and put it to his nose, which he wrinkled. Making suspicious eye contact with Spock the whole time, he took a sip of the brew.

“…That’s… actually not bad,” he said, looking pained to say the words. Then he closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch, letting out a long sigh, still holding the steaming cup between his hands.

Spock paused, unsure — a strange feeling for him. But then, he had a lot of those when Doctor McCoy was around, didn’t he? He sat next to him and lifted his hand, holding it hovering above his shoulder.

“Doctor…”

“It’s alright, Spock, you don’t have to sit with me, you can go back to work or whatever you were up to. Just… just let me sit here.” This was embarrassing enough without Spock trying to comfort him. McCoy expected the next sensation he felt to be the lifting of the Vulcan’s weight from the couch. Instead, it was his hand on his shoulder.

“I would rather stay here.” Spock was, like McCoy had been earlier, not looking him straight in the face. His grip was firm in a comforting way, like the hug. The doctor just closed his eyes and sipped more of the surprisingly pleasant tea. Truth be told, he was glad to have Spock next to him — though he’d never let the Vulcan know that. Like he’d said, he didn’t want to be alone.

The two men sat in silence. Spock was obviously not well versed in comforting an upset person, but his hand on McCoy’s shoulder was somehow grounding as he continued to drink the tea. Finally he finished it and leaned forward slightly to put it on the low table in front of the couch. When he leaned back again, he let his head fall all the way back, over the back of the couch. He let out another sigh, eyes closed.

“Doctor?”

“Mnh?”

“You need rest.”

“I ‘m restin’.” Spock shook his head and maneuvered an arm behind McCoy’s shoulders.

“Wh… what are you doing?” As he was protesting, Spock was already putting his other arm under the doctor’s knees and lifting him up.

“Hey!” McCoy shouted, but he was already being carried around the half-wall barrier. Spock set him down unceremoniously on the bed and set about taking off his boots. “Hey, now, this is… I’m not…” He was too flustered by the situation to get a proper sentence out.

“You have been working eighteen hour days for a week and a half. That is far past a human’s normal capacity for work. You are obviously unwell, and sleep will help you recover. You stated that you do not wish to be alone, therefore I propose that you sleep here.”

“What, in-in you and Jim’s bed? I could just sleep on the couch!”

“I do not currently require sleep, and Jim is not here.”

“Dammit, Spock, I know you’ve been working just as long of days as I have…”

“As a Vulcan, my stamina is much superior to yours.” McCoy twisted his mouth. As much as he wanted to argue, he was well and truly exhausted. Now that he was on the bed, the idea of getting off it was not an option. He sighed.

“Fine. Okay. I give in.” McCoy rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, curling slightly in on himself. The bed was comfortable — far more comfortable than his, and larger. Damn captain’s privileges. He sensed rather than heard Spock walk out of the bedroom area and curled up a little more. He was right on the other side of the partition, McCoy knew, but he started to feel alone again without that presence beside him. He briefly considered getting up and following Spock, then felt a twinge of embarrassment at even having the thought. After this nap that Spock had insisted on, he needed to pull himself together. It wasn’t exactly becoming of a senior officer to be so vulnerable and needy towards his superiors, even if they were his friends.

Just as he was trying to banish his irrational feeling of being alone again, McCoy felt a dip in the bed on the side he was facing. He half opened his eyes and saw Spock, sitting on the bed with his long legs stretched out before him and holding a padd in his hands. His eyes were focused down on the padd, moving quickly back and forth as he read the text. McCoy closed his eyes and suppressed his smile, not wanting to betray to Spock his satisfaction that he had returned.

Spock was absorbed in the scientific journal he was reading. So immersed that he didn’t notice right away when he stretched his hand out and rested it on McCoy’s head, his long fingers threading through and lightly stroking his hair. An absentminded physical expression of the affection he was usually quite successful at not showing.

McCoy was nearly asleep when made this uncharacteristic move, and it was all he could do not to jump out of his skin. As it was, he managed to not even open his eyes, and, heart hammering, pretended to be asleep. As nerve-wracking as Spock’s touch was, it was also soothing, and soon enough he really was asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh looks like this isn't just gonna be two chapters whOOPS.
> 
> This is short but it felt right to post it as a separate chapter somehow.

It was three hours later when the door whooshed open to admit an exhausted Kirk, and the two men hadn’t moved at all. Spock was still engrossed in his journal, and McCoy was fast asleep. Kirk’s eyes fell on them, and a smile stretched across his weary face. He walked over to the bed as quietly as he could, and Spock looked up for the first time in hours. Kirk glanced over at McCoy, asleep on their bed, and raised his eyebrows (both of them — he never could get the hang of the single eyebrow raise the other two were so adept at) in a question. The Vulcan finally seemed to notice what his left hand was doing, and he flushed slightly green and withdrew it, drawing a small pout from his partner. Spock took a moment to speak, and when he did it was in a low voice, trying not to wake the man sleeping beside him.

“He came here seeking you. He said he did not want to be alone.” Kirk nodded in understanding, and replied in a similarly soft voice.

“Well, thank you for taking care of him.” He smiled and moved forward to pinch Spock’s cheek. “You’re a softie, you know that?” Spock’s eyebrows twitched in what Jim recognized as the equivalent of a frown. He stretched. “I need a shower and then I’ll take over.”

Jim was still smiling when he went into the bathroom. That had been a pleasant surprise after a hellish five hour meeting capping off a hellish two weeks as they’d fought off the mystery ships then tried to deal with the casualties. Was Spock perhaps one step closer to admitting his feelings for Bones? He pondered the three men’s situation as he turned on the hot water — he deserved a proper shower, he decided — and stepped in.

Jim had known he loved Bones for quite a while, and several months ago Spock had surprised him by casually referring to the feelings Jim thought he had kept hidden. Thankfully, Spock seemed unbothered. And Jim was fairly sure that the reason was because Spock had feelings of his own for the doctor. While they hadn’t properly bonded, Jim knew the Vulcan better than anyone else in the world, and Spock couldn’t hide from Jim the affection behind the bickering and insults. Jim would occasionally hint and tease, but never pushed the subject. He knew Spock would need to come to terms with it in his own time. All he could do was hope it didn’t take too long.

McCoy himself was the wildcard in the whole situation. As much as the man wore his heart on his sleeve, Jim found him frustratingly hard to read as far as potential romantic feelings went. A part of him said that this probably meant he didn’t have any feelings for either himself or Spock, but, ever the optimist, a larger part of him held some hope. The bond that had formed between the three of them over the two and a half years they’d been in space… they were a perfect team. Jim had to hope that their already close relationship could extend to more.

And yet. Even after confirmation that Spock would be perfectly amenable to Kirk pursuing a relationship with McCoy, he hesitated. His usual confidence faltered — what if his dear Bones didn’t return his feelings, and it changed their friendship irreparably? Jim didn’t think he could bear that.

He shook his head as he got out of the shower and grabbed a towel. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about this anyway. Bones needed taking care of, and Jim certainly wasn’t going to push his feelings on the man while he was in this vulnerable state. He pulled on pajama pants and a white undershirt and left the bathroom. Spock hadn’t moved, so he sat on the other side of the bed and smiled down at his sleeping best friend. Unable to resist, he gently swept a bit of hair off of his forehead. McCoy’s eyebrows scrunched together and he stirred, at which Spock stood up and walked through the bathroom to his own quarters, leaving the other two alone together.The doctor blinked a few times then rolled on his back and looked up at Kirk, confused.

“…Jim? What…?” He glanced around the room and immediately sat up when he realized where he was (namely, in his captain’s bed). “Uh… how long have I been here?”

“About three hours, according to Spock.”

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Damn it, why did he have to sound so flustered? “I should get back to my quarters.” He moved to get up and Jim immediately put his hand on his friend’s chest and pushed him backwards so he was laying down again (then made a significant effort to banish certain thoughts that movement stirred in his mind).

“Oh no you don’t, you’re staying right here.”

“But…”

“It’s two in the morning, Bones, and you need a proper night’s sleep. Here I can make sure you actually get it,” he said, giving him a knowing look.

“I don’t wanna take over your bed, you sure as hell need sleep too. I’ll—“

“You’re not sleeping on the couch, Bones. If anyone’s sleeping on the couch it’s me, unless,” he paused, “you don’t mind bunking together?” Kirk hoped desperately that he’d managed to say that casually, and also to hide the hope in his voice.

“Nah, I don’t mind,” McCoy said, already feeling the fatigue taking over again. Jim smiled.

“Good. Now get some of those layers off and get under the covers,” he said, crawling under the blanket himself. McCoy made a face, but took off his blue uniform shirt and his socks (but left his pants) before slipping under the covers. He turned to lay down on his side again, back to his friend.

“Goodnight, Bones.”

“…G’night, Jim.”

It took every bit of Kirk’s willpower not to scoot over to his friend, pull him back against his chest, and hold him. Jim Kirk was a man of strong will, though, and so he settled for laying with his own back pressed against McCoy’s — a reminder that he was there. He just hoped it would be comforting rather than weird.


	3. Chapter 3

It was nearly noon when McCoy next awoke. He felt muddled, and — his arm was numb? He pried his eyes open and found out why. At some point in the night he had rolled onto his back, and Jim had rolled onto _him_. His left arm, as well as a good portion of his chest was entirely trapped beneath the man’s weight as Jim draped over him. Not quite a situation he’d ever expected to find himself in. He groaned as he tried to pull his arm free, but Kirk wasn’t budging.

Suddenly McCoy felt the weight lift off him and looked up to see Spock, gently moving the still-sleeping Kirk. He immediately felt guilty as he met the Vulcan’s dark eyes.

“Spock, uh… sorry, I didn’t…” He felt his face growing warm.

“That’s quite alright, doctor — Jim does have a habit of moving about in his sleep.” He walked away around the barrier into the living area of Kirk’s quarters and McCoy let out a relieved breath and closed his eyes. He immediately opened them again and lifted himself up onto his elbows (well, elbow — his left arm was still out of commission) as a certain smell made its way over to his side of the room.

“Is that coffee?” As if in answer, Spock came around the corner with two steaming mugs in his hands, one of which he held out. McCoy sat up and took it, taking his usual care not to accidentally brush his hands against the Vulcan’s. He took a sip. Perfect. “Oh, you pointy-eared angel,” he said, not yet awake enough to stop himself. Spock raised an eyebrow as he sat on the bed and took a sip of the tea in his mug.

“That is not the usual comparison you make when you mention the shape of my ears.”

“Yeah, well…” he stammered slightly, “next time you annoy me…” The two sat in silence sipping their drinks for bit before hearing a chuckle from the other side of the bed.

“Well aren’t you two domestic?” McCoy started and turned to see Jim laying on his side with his head propped up on his fist.

“How long have you been awake?” demanded the doctor, coloring. Jim just smiled and yawned.

“Where’s my coffee?”

“There is more in the pot,” said Spock, after which followed what was essentially a thirty second staring contest as Jim tried to silently convince his partner to bring him a cup of his own. Of course, a Vulcan rarely loses a staring contest, and Jim muttered something that sounded a little like _favoritism_ and left the bed to shuffle over to the coffee pot. McCoy glanced at Spock out of the corner of his eye and smirked, but was thrown off guard when his glance (and perhaps his smirk?) was returned and immediately flushed and busied himself with taking another sip of his coffee, hoping the steam would be an excuse for his blush.

Jim came back with his own mug and crawled back into bed, still looking grumpy. McCoy turned his head to him, intending to make conversation, but found himself stumped by the sheer strangeness of the situation — here he was, sitting in bed between his two superior officers, drinking coffee. It was, as Jim had said, domestic. It felt… weird, but also comfortable. He felt a little pang in his heart then and immediately shoved it down deep where he wouldn’t have to think about it.

“Damn,” said Kirk suddenly, looking up at the clock on the wall. “Took the morning shift off to get some rest, looks like I slept through the whole break.” He jumped out of bed and McCoy made to follow him, all ready to rush to Medbay, but a hand on his shoulder stilled him. “You’re off-duty for the next three days. Close your mouth, don’t argue, I’ve already talked to the medical staff and M’Benga can take over your duties while you get the rest you need.”

“Jim, are you confining me to _your_ quarters?”

“Of course not,” he laughed. “But you are welcome here for as long as you need. Just use your medical override to get back in.” With that he went into the bathroom, and within twenty minutes both Spock and Kirk were on their way to the bridge, leaving McCoy alone with his coffee and wondering exactly what being “welcome for as long as he needed” entailed. Exhaustion was coming over him again so rather than dwell on it he shrugged, put his mug on the bedside table, and curled up under the blankets to get some more much-needed sleep.

—

McCoy slowly came to consciousness for the second time that day. He looked at the clock, blinking a few times to unblur his vision. Four-thirty. Well, he guessed he needed the rest. He got out of bed and stretched. Now that he was caught up on sleep, he was starving. Just as he was considering a trip to the mess hall, the door opened to reveal his captain with a tray.

“Just got up?” he asked, looking at his friend’s rumpled clothes and hair. “I brought you some food.”

“Jim, you’re not my nursemaid,” McCoy said, twisting his mouth in an expression caught between a smile and a frown. Jim smiled.

“No, but Yeoman Rand might have thought it a bit strange if I’d told her to bring _you_ food in _my_ quarters.”

“That’s true,” he blushed and laughed, taking the bowl of stew that promised to be both nourishing and delicious and sitting on the couch to scarf it down. Rather than leaving to return to the bridge, as he expected, Kirk came to sit next to him.

“Did you get the sleep you needed?” McCoy just nodded in response, still eating. His friend waited until he was done before asking, in a soft voice, “how are you doing?”

“I…” He paused and frowned. How was he doing? This was the first time he’d given proper thought to the situation since last night — he’d been too preoccupied with fulfilling his immediate physical needs. Now that they were fulfilled…

The doctor sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on one hand while the other passed over his face, stopping to cover his mouth as he considered the question. Jim put a comforting hand on his back and all at once the dam broke — his eyes swam with tears and he just barely managed to muffle a sob. His friend moved his hand across his back until his arm was around McCoy’s shaking shoulders, holding him to his side. McCoy shook his head, hand still clamped across his mouth. He gathered himself up as well as he could before attempting to speak.

“I can’t…” He breathed deeply. “Gotta stay strong, right?” A squeeze around his shoulders.

“It’s just me here.” A barked-out laugh in response.

“You’re my _captain_.” His voice broke and he put his hand over his mouth again.

“Not right now I’m not. I’m just your friend.” And with that said, Jim pulled his Bones full into his arms, where he finally let himself break down, face buried in his friend’s broad chest. Jim rubbed McCoy’s back, steadfastly _not_ thinking about the way the lean muscle felt under his hands. “Shh, it’s alright,” he muttered, “it’s alright, sweetheart.”

Oops.

Jim could only desperately hope his friend hadn’t processed that slip-up. There was no reaction, so he continued to soothe his friend and tried to forget about it.

—

It took about half an hour for McCoy to get out all the tears he had stored up. The sobs slowly stopped wracking his body and eventually even the silent tears stopped. He slowly lifted his head from Kirk’s chest.

“Ugh, your shirt…” Jim just pulled off his gold overshirt and dropped it on the floor without looking at it. McCoy laughed and sniffled, leaning back into the couch. His friend’s arm remained around his shoulders. He opened his mouth and was interrupted.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Bones.” A sigh, and a small smile.

“Fine. I won’t.” A comfortable silence settled over the two men as McCoy caught his breath. Then he said something Jim had been hoping he wouldn’t: “…Did you call me ‘sweetheart’?” There was a laugh in the other man’s voice, and he tried to emulate it in his own voice.

“…Did I?”

“I suppose you’re used to calling Spock that…” He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Mm.” The truth was, Jim did _not_ call Spock that. The silence was tense for only a minute before reverting to its previous comfortableness, until McCoy’s head dropped to the side and he slipped back into sleep, his exhaustion now emotional rather than physical.

—

Kirk had meant what he said about McCoy being welcome to stay as long as he wanted, and he took him at his word. He ventured to other parts of the ship during the day to avoid being alone with his thoughts, (mostly hanging around the bridge, and entirely avoiding sickbay) but spent the next two nights with Jim (and Spock, though the Vulcan always retired to his own quarters when Kirk and McCoy showed signs of being ready to sleep). He finally returned to work and to his own bed, things went back to normal, and the friends spent some time avoiding the subject of the three nights they’d shared quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone so much for reading and for your kudos and very lovely comments! I'll definitely be writing more of these three -- might even do a series?


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